


I Love the Thrill of a Good Solution!

by Nute (nutenewtnuteboiyo)



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Fantasizing, Layton gets off on drinking tea, Layton is a switch, M/M, Male Masturbation, Male Solo, Massage, Masturbation, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Thankfully Rosa won't see this mess, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutenewtnuteboiyo/pseuds/Nute
Summary: Professor Layton is overworking himself; time to turn to tea, self massage, and a little bit of fantasizing to relax.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	I Love the Thrill of a Good Solution!

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say; I love bisexual switch Layton and couldn't decide who to pair him with. Also massages and tea don't get enough credit.

Professor Layton closed his eyes and leaned back against his desk chair. He was tired and his ability to concentrate on his work had finally dwindled down to the finest of threads. Sighing he glanced down at the disarray of papers, notes, books, and photographs spread before him. Pushing his chair back from the desk, Layton stood. Lifting his arms above his head he stretched his shoulders with a grunt.

“Maybe you should admit defeat for the night old boy”, he mumbled as he reached toward one of the open books. Ah! That reminds him of a puzzle! Only, he wasn’t up to it right now and closed the large tome, piling it atop the others. 

“I’ll save that for later”, his mind had moaned at the prospect of further concentration, and not even a small puzzle could coax further effort from the Professor tonight. It was a strange feeling to dismiss a puzzle opportunity and Layton smiled ruefully to himself as he shuffled the remaining clutter on his desk into a haphazard pile. A knuckle tapped against his empty teacup as he picked up the final pieces of his writing. 

“Ah yes, a fine cup of tea will do me good.”  
He lifted the cup and saucer, a subtly patterned pair that Flora had gifted him, and headed toward his kettle. Thankfully, his office was in slightly better shape than his desk and he easily moved around ritually preparing a fresh pot of tea. Placing the pot, milk, and teacup on the low table he fell into the office sofa, relishing the comfort that it offered him. Layton reached a hand up to his shoulder rubbing it experimentally and letting out a soft groan as his fingers prodded at the tight muscles. Popping the first couple buttons of his orange dress shirt he slipped his hand underneath to gain better access to his shoulder. He leaned forward to pour some tea, the fruity aroma wafting towards him as it filled the cup. Bringing the cup to his lips he savoured the earthy smell of the Belle Classic before he took a sip of the bitter liquid. Layton’s hand on his shoulder stilled as his whole body shivered. The pleasing warmth of the tea spreading, from his chest to his toes. Though he preferred his tea with a splash of milk, that initial sip of unclouded tea always activated his senses in the best way. He took a moment to savour the bite of the tea on his tongue, with the soft sweetness gently appearing behind it. He hummed, leaning forward to add milk to his cup, his next sip smoother. 

“Perfect”, he rumbled, shifting his hand to his other shoulder to dig at the offending muscles. His breath caught as his fingers found a knot, letting out a low moan as he slowly rubbed at the offending soreness. Another groan escaped his lips. He worked at his shoulder between sips, but the angle wasn’t quite right. Layton felt himself blush as he imagined how he must look; his shirt unbuttoned moaning over a cup of tea.

“Rather ungentlemanly of you.”  
Layton cupped his tea with both hands, leaning back into the couch he let his legs stretch out in front of him. He had really been pushing himself these past few weeks. Perhaps he needed to give his mind a small break. The Professor stared at the office door over the rim of his cup. His tongue played among notes of berries and citrus as he considered his choices. He glanced quickly at the clock on his shelf, it was past one in the morning. Layton returned his gaze to the door as he smiled into his teacup. Finishing his second cup of tea he placed it carefully on its saucer and stood. 

He walked over to the door, laid a hand on the solid wood, then moved to lock it. The heavy clunk of the lock made him twitch. As Layton turned back to the couch he carefully placed his hat and coat beside each other on the coat rack, habitually straightening the tophat before returning to the couch. He eased himself back into the welcoming cushions feeling the stiffness in his limbs. He poured another cup of the amber tea, holding the next sip in his mouth a moment before swallowing. He sighed, satisfied, and returned his hand to his shirt to undo another button. His eyes followed the motion intently as his hand moved onto the next. As the last button came undone Layton lifted his hand to his face in embarrassment. His hand fell to his lap and he took another sip from his cup coating his tongue with it’s tender sweetness. His face felt flushed as his hand traced circles on his thigh, ghosting over the fabric. 

It was quite silly to be embarrassed by such things, he was an ‘English Gentleman’ after all. Nothing to be ashamed of in caring for one's health. The final bit of tea was cherished before the cup returned to its saucer. He noticed the slight tremble in his hands as they retreated back to his body, he definitely needed this. Layton ran a hand through his hair and moaned as his nails scraped against his scalp. A hand moved down to his crotch moving lightly along the growing bulge that was now residing in his trousers. There is a lot that can be accomplished from a good cup of tea and a massage. 

He looked down his body at these ministrations feeling his breathing rate increase as he caressed himself through the fabric. His movements were slow, but firm, and he felt his body shiver in anticipation. He looked back to his desk, a little frustrated, and gave himself a quick squeeze before getting up. The air brushed against his chest sending goosebumps along his arms, the Professor rolled up his sleeves. He crouched awkwardly, shifting a pile of books aside, and opened the bottom most drawer of the desk. After a few moments of digging he pulled a small bottle out and returned to the couch. He spared a quick glance at the door to reaffirm that he had indeed locked it, before sitting back down. Placing the bottle beside his tea pot he reached down to untuck his dress shirt, followed by undoing his trouser button, and then slowly pulling down the zipper. 

Layton’s mouth went a little slack as his right hand pushed against his leg, forcing his thighs apart. His eyes darted quickly to the left again, checking the door. Wouldn’t due to to be caught in such an ungentlemanly situation. The blush on his face deepend. What an image he must be, legs sprawling, clothing half undone, with his cock beginning to strain against his pants. He reached to shimmy out of his shirt, but was caught short as his left shoulder twinged. Right, first things first. The Professor redirected his hands back under his shirt, arms crossing his chest to reach each shoulder [the trapezius muscles specifically, accuracy is key old boy]. He dug his fingers into the muscles and groaned at the mix of pleasure and discomfort that raced through his nerves. He pressed deeper and pulled his hands toward his clavicle. He repeated the motion then moved on, starting at the back of his neck moving down to the top of his pectorals [specifically the clavicular head of the pectoralis major muscle]. He drew his hands up again to the back of his neck moving along each vertebrae. He tilted his head back against the couch and pressed into the muscles just below his skull [specifically, aww fuck it] and moaned while his fingers worked in small circles. Lights flashed behind his eyes as he kneaded the tight muscles, his hips grinding against the empty air. 

Next the Professor’s fingers trailed down his chest pushing at muscle and bone, each spasm a shock of relief. He cupped his groin as he reworked the muscle at the base of his skull. His favourite spot to prod, always tight and always able to shut off his thoughts when worked the right way. He rolled his hips into his hand a few times, his breath heavy. Layton licked his lips and slowly pulled out his member from his pants, shoving the band under his balls. Unconsciously glancing at the door again his dick gave a twitch. Damn his own thoughts, flashes of a figure entering crossed his mind. They would move to his side admonishing his carelessness. His hand lightly encircled the base and moved up his cock slowly, drawing the foreskin over his glands before moving his hand back down to cup his balls. Layton rolled them in his hand as he brushed his other through the trail of hair that ran down from his navel. How disheveled their Professor was, and in his own office! Really, it’s as though he expected to get caught.

He had given up fighting against his own imagination as it flitted through possible scenarios. Hands on his chest as he slowly worked his own cock, whispers in his ear, him demanding that his own needs be met by another, sitting in someone’s lap subject to their whims. The damn was broken and the thoughts were flooding through his consciousness. As his thoughts sped between fantasies he worked lightly at the head of his cock, teasing. The grip on his balls shifted from rough to gentle. Layton opened his eyes dazedly remembering the bottle of lube he had gathered earlier, his mind providing imagery of slick fingers and hot mouths. 

“You have not been caring for yourself, old boy”, Layton scolded. He ran both hands through his hair, messing it up, tugging at it, careless of cleanliness. Each rough touch felt good, each achy muscle forgotten. The Professor took a moment to admire himself, feeling guilty and embarrassed, eyes moving from his flushed chest down to his open trousers, his swollen member springing up from the open fabric. He watched his abdomen move with each breath and used the elastic of his pants to prop up his cock and balls. His mind, usually focused on puzzles, problems, facts, and tasks, threatened to distract him. He covered his face and caught the smell of his sex, his blush deepening but his dick twitched. Layton reached for the bottle, popped the top and delicately poured lube onto the head of his cock watching as it slowly ran down the side of his length. It was cold sending a shiver up his spine. He swiped a finger up the trail and circled his glands, moving slowly. His chest ached as he felt heat building in his groin.  
“Fuck”

Such a nasty word to come from such a gentleman, someone whispered in his ear. Could he last for them? If he didn’t they would tell the whole campus how the Professor used his free time. Hips thrust against his as they tried to pull an orgasm from him, kissing his neck, biting his lips. He imagined a partner’s weight on him as he thrust up into them. His hand tightened, but kept the pace slow. He hissed between his teeth as the pressure in his gut swelled. Layton pulled his hand away at the last moment, hips raised off the couch. Time to apply some creative thinking. 

He let himself breathe for a bit, his blood pounding through his body. His shaky hands smoothed across his abdomen, ran through his now damp hair. His muscles felt loose, barely recalling their earlier complaints. Besides his raging hard on - that was definitely complaining. He contemplated the lube, was he willing to get that messy? His mind drifted to having his trousers and pants shucked off, his legs pushed apart, his own fingers inside him as the door opened and his discoverer watching in anticipation. He couldn’t decide. His hand rested on the base of his cock giving it a tug now and then. 

A series of events played before him. Layton pushed into his couch his hand clasped around his mouth to stifle the moans as he was thrust into, folded over, spread, the dildo slowly caressing his prostate, balls slapping against his ass. Breath brushed against his neck as he was jerked off after class, setting his own pace as he thrust into mouths, hands, breasts, warm caverns. The great thing about being a problem solver is you never lack ideas. 

Layton’s hand was going at a measured pace now, his body had slid down the couch with his knees bumping into the coffee table. His free hand gripped the cushions attempting to maintain his position. He kept forgetting to breathe and would momentarily gasp for air when he noticed. He was close again, his mind spiraling through images. A partner below him as he thrust forward, his mouth stretched around a cock, his hand moving between his own legs as they pushed into him, his partner clamping around him as they climaxed, his face coated in their fluids, kissing desperately. His panting breath felt loud in the dim office. Each stroke built the pressure in his gut, his hand flicking over the slick head of his dick on the upstroke, gasps and groans spilling uninhibited from his mouth. 

The orgasm hit him hard, growling and gasping as semen painted his stomach. Obscenities punctuated each thrust as he continued his ministrations through his orgasm, mind blank. Layton panted as his hand moved over the sensitive flesh. He shuddered at each caress jerking both away and into the sensation. He ghosted his fingers over the head of his cock, letting out a noise that sounded much like a hiccup, before moving to swirl through the fluid on his abdomen. He hummed, basking in the haze of his orgasm, unwilling to move. He considered, absently, slumping to the floor and curling up to sleep. But the pool of semen on his stomach deterred him, it definitely was already on his shirt, better not to soil the rug as well. His back too had begun to protest against his slouched position. Goosebumps rose on his flesh as a draft cooled him and slowly the Professor righted himself. He shifted awkwardly to pull off his shirt and wipe away the mess, taking care not to let anything sully the couch or rug. Wouldn’t due having poor Rosa scandalized after finding any peculiar stains. A Gentleman always cleans up after himself.

He collected a wet rag to clean himself more thoroughly, casually turning on the kettle as he did so. He zipped himself back up and surveyed the room, humming to himself. Layton moved around the office tidying; stashing his shirt to be washed later, returning the lube to the depths of the bottom drawer, fishing out the teabag from from the teapot and pouring one last cup of tea. He sat back down on the couch to sip at the hot liquid. The tea was lighter, coming to the last of its potency, but the flavours enveloped the Professor in a contentedness like no other. Even without milk the tea’s bitterness had become subtle. After only a few sips Layton had to put down the cup, drowsiness threatening to spill its contents into his lap. Clumsily he worked his shoes off his feet and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, fighting to unfold it. He tucked himself onto the office couch wiggling into a comfortable position. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s slept here.

Rosa Grimes arrived punctually each morning, making her way through the hall of offices meticulously and efficiently. When she arrived at the door to one Professor Hershel Layton she opened it quietly. The Professor had a habit of staying the night in his office around exams. She had started taking caution each morning so as not to surprise the poor man, after that first rude awakening she’d rather not stress him unnecessarily. And as she opened the door she spied the telltale tophat hanging from the coat rack. Really, that man. He works himself far too hard! If only he could transfer some of that passion to tidying up his office! She smiled ruefully, closing the door quietly and relocking it. She made a note to check back at a more respectable hour to make Professor Layton a good pot of tea.


End file.
